


Before the Bullet Goes Off

by Caradee



Series: Mafia Verse [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins, Child Abuse, Gen, Guns, M/M, kid Charles, mafia au, teen Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caradee/pseuds/Caradee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of The Mafia AU. </p><p>He didn't even know he had a grandfather...<br/>A brief look at Charles' childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Bullet Goes Off

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Suggested you read the first part before this. 
> 
> 2) In this verse I thought Kurt Marko is also into criminal activity. A small crime lord perhaps.

**Charles**  
  
He didn’t even know he had a grandfather. Not until the tender age of twelve, standing by the open mouth in the ground and staring at his mother’s coffin being lowered into it while women in black sang crooning tunes.  
  
Among the mourners was a man dressed in a sharp, all-black suit and sitting regally in a wheel chair. He remembered seeing the same chair, same suit, same tight-lipped mouth at his father’s funeral, not even six years ago.  
  
This time, though, the man wasn’t crying, and Charles was grateful for that.  His own tears were hard enough to control, and he could tell Kurt was getting irritated by the heavy hand on his shoulder, its fat fingers digging into his skin.  
  
 _Stop crying,_ he told himself, echoing Kurt’s mental mantra. Wiping the snot away with the sleeve of his suit jacket, he told himself again, _you need to stop crying._  
  
But everyone’s emotions were weighing upon him. The tears weren’t his own, they were that of the gardener, the cook, his mother’s old college roommate, the man who’d always thought she was pretty, her lawyer who wished he could have kissed her one last time-  
  
He winced and sniffled some more, lowering his eyes to avoid making contact. It always got worse when he looked at people. Kurt’s fingers were a dull pain now, something only the overwhelming emotions of the mourning could tear Charles away from.  
  
And then- everything was gone.  
  
Kurt’s fingers, everyone else’s tears, the thoughts pressing against his head. All were wiped away like one of the dry erase boards his tutor used for math problems. The sudden clarity startled Charles. He looked up and saw the old man from before - staring at him.  
  
 _You don’t need all that pressing down on you, Charles, c_ ame a smooth-accented voice, like how he remembered his father’s.  
  
Charles’ brows frowned and he licked his lips. _How did you do that?_  
  
 _Isn’t it obvious? I’m like you, my dear boy._    
  
He blinked. _Like Me?_  
  
He remembered his father then, a man who could make nearly anyone fall in love with him. Who instantly soothed all of Charles’ fears and worries just by touching him. “It’s my super power,” he used to say. _“_ Like how you hear thoughts, Charles - and there are more of us. You’ll see, we aren’t alone. _”_  
  
 _You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you,_ the older man said, bringing Charles out of his thoughts.  
  
 _At my father’s funeral?_ Charles asked, wanting to be sure.  
  
He saw the man smile, a thin sad show of lips that made him look as though he would cry. _Yes, then._  
  
 _Who are you?_  
  
 _I’m your grandfather, Charles._  
  
 _\---_  
  
After that, he remembered leaving Westchester like it was a battle, because that’s how it felt, how it would feel for any child.  
  
A lawyer came out to read his mother’s will. Charles sat on one side of the room with Kurt and Cain, and on the other side of the room sat his newly-found grandfather with five other people. All beautiful and tall, dressed in sleek midnight black. One woman had bright white hair and chocolate-colored skin. Another man wore dark red sunglasses that made him look like an action star.  
  
Kurt’s mind was a flurry of nerves, but Charles could tell from how the man kept looking at the group of people across the room that they were the reason. His step father took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat along his neck and forehead.  
  
“To Kurt,” the lawyer read, “I leave all my possessions, and three million dollars.”  
  
Kurt nodded stiffly at the news, while pleased gloating rang out in his head. _Got it! This makes all of it worth while..._  
  
Charles tried not to wince at the shout, or at how his step father’s nerves were still unsettled. They made the room spin slightly, until he felt the soft warm presence of another’s mind brush his own. This time his grandfather allowed him time to get used to the sensation. It was just a mental nudge of reassurance, something Charles hadn’t felt in…so long. _Be calm,_ it said, and he found it was suddenly easier to breathe.  
  
“Charles, my son, I leave in the custody of his closest living relative,” the lawyer continued, and at the sound of his name Charles perked up. Felt the entire room perk up. “His grandfather, as Francis would have wanted.”  
  
“What?” The word wasn’t just Kurt’s, it also came from a few of the people on his grandfather’s side of the room.  
  
Charles felt a blooming sense of joy sprout from his chest. He wasn’t even sure if the feeling really belonged to him or if it were from his grandfather, but it made him leap up and rush to the other side of the room, throwing his arms giddily around the old man’s shoulders.  He shouted out in glee just as Kurt screamed.  
  
“Are you playing a joke on me!” His step father charged out of his chair like a monster, but didn’t move any further. “Sharon wanted that boy with me, I know she did.”  
  
“Well, Mr. Marko, you never signed any adoption papers, so Charles isn’t legally yours to keep,” the lawyer in the light grey suit clucked his tongue at Kurt Marko while giving Charles’ grandfather a small proud smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Xavier.”  
  
“Thank you,” his grandfather said, then used strong arms to heft Charles up into his chair, onto his lap. Usually Charles would huff - he was small for a twelve year old, but he wasn’t a baby and shouldn’t be treated like one. But he never thought he would have a grandfather, he couldn’t remember the last time he sat in someone’s lap. So for the time being he would allow it, and even rested his forehead against the old man’s temple, listening to  the quiet _thump thump_ of their thoughts and feelings connecting.  He heard his grandfather let out a shaky breath at the interaction.  
  
“This is nonsense.” Kurt’s face was red with rage now. “You must have done something. With your fucking _family privileges_ and _freak powers_. How do I know you didn’t put a hit on Sharon just to get at her kid?”  
  
“You really want to make that claim?” growled a man with wild hair and short stature. He stepped towards Kurt, who eyed him warily and then quieted down. Kurt’s bodyguards moved between them, but even they seemed reluctant to take on the short man.  
  
“ _Freaks_. The fucking lot of you. I don’t need my family or my business to be associated with you. Come along, Cain.”  
  
And that was it - just like in his books, the good guys had won, and Charles thought his grandfather must have been the most powerful man in the world to make Kurt Marko run away.  
  
He had no idea how right he was.  
  
\---  
  
He couldn’t hide the scars for long. People were always with him in England - walking him down the hall, at the dinner table, doing homework, even following him to the bathroom. It was only a matter of time, at least until one of the maids drew his bath and asked him to undress.  
  
The cuts were noticed as soon as his shirt was off, and immediately he was rushed to his grandfather’s office, his bath forgotten. He stood awkwardly in the large room. A decorative Persian carpet lay under his bare feet, and the stuffed fox hanging on the wall seemed to be eyeing him. His grandfather, whom the others called Ninth, was quiet as he took in the various cuts across Charles abdomen and upper arms.  
  
“What happened, Charles?” the man asked, voice soft - not accusing.  
  
Still, Charles bit his lip to keep the secret tucked inside. He didn’t want his grandfather to think he was weak. He didn’t want him to know…  
  
His grandfather was never alone. Always, people were by the older man’s side, and even if Charles wanted to tell him, he wouldn’t dare tell the story out loud in front of strangers.  
  
He was better than most people at keeping his thoughts hidden, under a soft imaginary blanket that he had pulled over his mind. But the blanket still couldn’t stop a man like the Ninth from picking up on his feelings of self-loathing, and worthlessness.  
  
 _Charles,_ his grandfather tried again, pressing softly against his security blanket, _Charles, you can tell me anything._  
  
It took a long moment, and Charles had to close his eyes, to disappear to a world where it was only his grandfather and himself, before he said, _Okay…_  
  
And then he showed The Ninth boss of the Xavier family his life after the death of Francis Xavier.  
  
\---  
  
A drunk and unloving mother.  
  
A terrifying man who was his step father.  
  
A brother who at fifteen was being taught ways to kill men, and practicing on Charles.  
  
How Kurt tried to train him the same way he’d trained Cain, but eventually gave up and used Charles as the punching bag instead.  
  
How Cain was being groomed for a family business and Charles was being groomed for a life as a secretary - but that was okay, he liked books. Liked to read, do math, memorize history.  
  
… And how that got him beat up even more.  
  
Knives, always with knives. One time Cain had pulled out a gun, and his telepathy lashed out in self-defense.  
  
His step brother slept in a coma for week, and Charles got beat up even more.  
  
\---  
  
“He’s such a sweet boy,” he remembered hearing the next day while napping on the couch in his grandfather’s office. Charles pulled the mental blanket tighter over his thoughts, hoping his grandfather wouldn’t notice that he was awake, but it felt as though the older man was too preoccupied with other things.  
  
He knew for sure, though, that his grandfather had been unnerved and angered by Charles’ memories.  
  
“It’s almost a miracle he turned out the way he is,” The Ninth continued. “I just can’t believe Sharon would fight so hard to keep him and then let this happen. I didn’t think she hated me that much.”  
  
Another person snorted, “ _I_ can, the bitch just wanted the family’s money and power when it turned out she wouldn’t…”  
  
“I know, Logan,” sighed his grandfather. “It doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.”  
  
“We have the kid now, though, that’s all that matters.” Logan’s voice softened, as if he were treading on icy ground. “Or are you reconsidering his inheritance?”  
  
The Ninth was quiet for a long time, and Charles held his breath for a solid minute before he reminded himself that people breathed even while sleeping.  
  
“No, of course not. Charles is what this family needs. We’ll just have to approach his training differently - are you up for it, Logan?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Chuck,” Logan replied. “I’ve been told I’m good with children.”  
  
That got a chuckle out of his grandfather, and Charles fell asleep a moment later without even realizing it.  
  
\---  
  
It took hours, but he finally did it. He finally found a place in the house where he was alone. A quiet hallway on the opposite side of the building from where his grandfather’s office was. There were always people there, with the Ninth. But on the eastern side of the building, the lights weren’t even turned on, the hum of other people’s minds were distant, and Charles could be alone to play.  
  
Crouching on the dark carpet, he shrugged off the small backpack he carried around with him and pulled out his newest book. _Mutants and their Civil Rights,_ he’d found it on his grandfather’s bookshelf the last time he visited his office. The book was less dusty than the others on the shelf, and more worn. He’d seen the old book on grandfather’s night stand once before, and had asked to borrow it, interested to read the same things as his grandfather.  The old man smiled and handed it over, with only the weak warning, “Take care of it.”  
  
Unfortunately, after that Logan had come and taken Charles away with him for what the other man called “training.” Charles remembered training while living with Kurt and Cain, brutal beatings and no education in any real technique. He was afraid Logan would be the same, but the training turned out to be like nothing he’d ever experienced before.  
  
Logan was patient and taught him the basics. A right jaw, a left punch, a quick recovery. Charles even managed to land a punch on the man’s jaw at one point and although Logan lied when he told him it would bruise, the pride still swelled in his chest.  
  
After that was lunch time, and then the man named Scott had showed him to his bedroom for a nap.  That was when Charles finally found the opportunity to sneak away, and now here he was - tucked away in the east wing, alone with his book.  
  
This was how it had always been back at Westchester. It felt like settling back into an old piece of clothing. Comforting and homey. Opening his book and looking down at the pages full of tiny text and hundreds of words, he could almost imagine that his life hadn’t changed so dramatically. His old life was just a memory away, and that thought was both comforting and unnerving.  
  
A furious buzzing noise burst into his mind, making him flinch involuntarily. Someone had found him - someone who was irritated, and mad, and hurt. Charles quickly looked up from his book, expecting to see one of the maids or maybe even Scott, who would surely not be happy to discover he’d disappeared.  
  
Instead he met eyes with an older boy, dressed in a dark shirt and dark pants with high cheek bones and old-looking eyes. The teenager stopped dead in his tracks as he took Charles in. In the past week, he’d only had only adults for company, most of his life he’d only had adults for company. Granted, the stranger in front of him looked a good couple of years older, but the sight of him still brightened the dim hallway.  
  
The twelve-year-old gave a weak smile, “Er - hi…”  
  
The stranger’s mouth did a stubborn dance, refusing to open as he continued to stare. Charles just blinked and finally the teen sighed, “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Reading,” Charles held up his book to prove his point. The teen’s eyes lingered on the book as if he recognized it, so he asked, “Have you read it?”  
  
“No.” The answer was short and clipped. “Where did you get that?”  
  
“My grandpa let me have it,” he answered hotly.  
  
The words didn’t seem to calm the other teen down at all. “Can you even read that?”  
  
“Of course I can, and everyone says I’m clever for my age.”  
  
The teen rolled his eyes at that. “I bet they do.”  
  
“I can read it,” Charles stated again, then turned back to his book and read out loud the first line that popped out at him. “The X gene causes a range of differ... differential abilities, the depth of which are still being discovered. In one case, a woman was found to have a stomach with mutable layers, meaning she could di...gest... ad...normal amounts of…” He paused on the next word, puzzling over it with scrunched eye brows.  
  
He heard a heavy sigh and felt annoyed resignation before the strange boy’s lean body crouched next to him. “What are you looking at?”  
  
“This word…”  
  
“Chalybeate.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
The teen shrugged his shoulders, and Charles turned his eyes back to the page and continued reading. When he finally finished the paragraph, with a few stumbles and a little assistance, he beamed up at his new friend, sitting beside him and looking utterly bored. “See?”  
  
The teen’s steel-grey eyes stared back, but he didn’t seem impressed. “Why are you here, anyway?”  
  
“Because I wanted to be alone,” Charles answered, looking back down at his book. “Why are _you_ here?”  
  
“The same reason.”  
  
“Oh…” He turned a page aimlessly and looked down at the printed letters. “I’m Charles.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
The other boy was quiet, so it was up to Charles to keep the conversation going. “Do you want to help me read some more?”  
  
That got him a look, but Charles smiled anyway and started to read another random sentence. His new friend didn’t leave, he noticed, and continued to help him with the words he couldn’t handle.  
  
\---  
  
The next day of training, he asked Logan if there were any other kids on the Estate. The answer was a gruff “no,” and then he didn’t get the chance to look for the other boy again.  
  
Because after that Logan told him he was going to a school in northern England, to live a normal life.  
  
\---  
  
Normal life, as it turned out, consisted of school, with friends and a low tolerance of stress. Charles made more friends than he’d ever dreamed, made the acquaintance of some that were more than friends. He read, excelled in school, and trained with Logan every day after class, while keeping in close contact with his grandfather through telephone and letters. (His grandfather preferred having something in hand to read, and so did Charles.)  
  
Normal life only lasted until he was 21 and in the middle of university. It ended when his grandfather almost died and he was rushed back to the Xavier Estate in a lux black Mercedes that reminded him too much of a funeral hearse.  
  
He knew the day would come when he would return to the mansion, burdened down with all the responsibility his grandfather seemed to handle as easily as breathing. It didn’t make the drive back any easier.  
  
Then he stepped out onto the picturesque land for the first time in nearly ten years and was greeted by a man with high cheek bones, steel-colored eyes, and russet hair. Charles recognized him immediately. The nameless boy had grown into a man.  
  
And a fine man, indeed. The sight brought the first smile to Charles’ face since he left Oxford, and he tried to make it a bright one for his oldest and dearest friend.


End file.
